


i'll keep you my furry little secret

by Aramley



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-31
Updated: 2010-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-17 20:04:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aramley/pseuds/Aramley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five people who know that Andy Murray is a werewolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll keep you my furry little secret

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the AU_Bingo prompt _fantasy & supernatural: werewolves_ and posted [here](http://aramleys-words.livejournal.com/12603.html).

**1\. Judy Murray**

Aside from how fruitless an endeavour it would be to attempt to keep anything from Andy's mum, she was the one who found him after, tearing up the garden path with a bloodied bite mark six inches across on his chubby wee forearm, screaming about the big bad wolf. She'd gathered him up and rushed him to the hospital, and taken the brunt of the doctor's disapproving sighs when the blood had been wiped away to reveal clean, whole skin, marred only by the silvered sickle-moon of a fading scar.

"You said it was a wolf," she said, in the car on the way back. "Andy. Tell the truth like a good boy, now. Was it really a wolf?"

"It was a wolf," Andy said, sullen with the feeling of being disbelieved. "It was a _big_ wolf. Like in the stories. His eyes were red."

She didn't tell him, _there are no wolves in Scotland_. She knew better.

**2\. Jamie Murray**

There were, as far as Jamie could see, no upsides whatsoever to having a little brother who was a werewolf. Never mind his foul temper, or the howling from the outhouse once a month that kept Jamie awake all hours (until he lit on the miracle of earplugs), or being expressly forbidden from offering to bring him in to show his schoolfriends (people brought in their stupid pets all the time, kittens and rabbits and little fluffy yapping dogs; Andy on the turn, with his meat-cleaver teeth and blood-red eyes, would cement Jamie's playground cred forever). The worst part - the part that really rubbed salt in the wound - was that by the time Jamie was ten, Andy was already stronger than him, faster than him, _better at tennis than him._

When he complained, Jamie's mum said that this was called _karmic payback_ , meaning that something horrible had happened to Andy, but this was the upside.

"You don't begrudge your brother that, do you, Jamie?" she said, kindly enough but with a look that mostly said, _you'd better not._

"'Course I don't," Jamie said. But he loved tennis, and everyone said that Andy was going to win Grand Slams some day, and meant it. A night's pain once a month for the chance of a Grand Slam: Jamie thought there wasn't much unfair about that bargain.

**3\. Miles Mclagan**

Andy had been fair with him, had told him before any contract was signed, "Listen, if you're going to work with me, you need to know something."

"What's that, then," Miles said, expecting a joke.

"I'm a werewolf," Andy said, and Miles laughed. The guy's dead-pan was perfect.

"That's a good one," he said. "Nice. You got me going, then. I'll be taking it out of you in practice tomorrow, mind."

"I'm not joking," Andy said, without the barest flicker of amusement. "I'm telling you. I'm a werewolf."

Miles thought, candid camera. This is a set-up. He played along. "What," he said, "howling at full moons, silver, the works?"

"I mostly get tranquilised when I'm changed these days," said Andy, matter-of-fact. "Silver's an irritant, yeah. Gives me a rash. Like a, kind of like an allergic reaction."

"Andy," Miles said. The flat tone of Andy's voice was giving him the creeps. "C'mon. Drop it now, yeah?"

Andy fixed him with a cold, direct stare. Then he shrugged. "I told you as a courtesy," he said, "because once a month I turn into a wolf and it affects my playing. I get angry. I get tired. If it's a bad moon I might pick up an injury. You need to know that because it's going to affect your job. The rest's on me."

Then he swung his kit bag over his shoulder and was gone. Miles watched him go, the tense and angry lines of his shoulders. If the kid was lying, he was Oscar-worthy.

**4\. Kim Sears**

She loved him, so she stayed, even though he broke her heart month by month.

**5\. Rafael Nadal**

They were in the changing rooms at Rotterdam when Rafa looked down and said, "Andy, your hands."

Andy looked down. His hands were red raw; the palms had blistered.

"Shit," he said. The plate was silver. He'd forgotten. "Shit, shit."

"Come here," Rafa said, taking Andy gently by an unburned wrist. "Let me."

"It's okay," Andy said, as Rafa tugged at his wrist to draw him away. "Rafa, seriously. It'll be fine."

The stinging was already abating. By the end of the day they blisters would be healed.

Rafa was digging around in his kit bag for some kind of ointment. Distractedly, he asked, "What you are, ah, what is the word?"

"Allergic?" Andy offered. "It's - silver."

"Silver?" Rafa had found what he'd been looking for. "Hold out - like this. You are allergic to silver?"

Andy put out his hands, palms up. "Yeah," he said.

"I never hear of this before," Rafa said. He squeezed out a portion of cool gel onto each of Andy's palms. "Is very strange, no?"

"Stranger than you think," Andy said, with a breath of laughter. He was a little dizzy with elation from winning, and from Rafa, the irresistible musk smell of his body and the soft, intimate way he massaged the cooling gel onto Andy's burnt, hypersensitive hands.

Rafa gave him a quizzical look. "How you mean?"

"Well," Andy said, and went on recklessly, "I'm a werewolf."

Rafa's look turned serious, searching. "Werewolf," he said. "Like in a movie?"

"Except real," Andy said.

Rafa looked at him for a long time, steady and almost unblinking. In a fit of heart-racing panic Andy wanted to say, sneering, _Jesus Christ, I could sell you anything_ , but he didn't. In the end, Rafa looked down, to his fingers against Andy's palms.

"It hurt?" he asked, at last.

He wasn't asking about the burn. Andy's throat tightened.

"Yeah," he said, a little roughly. "It hurts."


End file.
